


clock's still ticking

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 12:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11402721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Bodhi remembers how they met; a series of repetitive instances, happening over and over, until one stood out from among the rest.





	clock's still ticking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stephanericher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/gifts).



> here's my [canteen joke](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sv5iEK-IEzw) that just barely misses the mark. had a fun time on wookiepedia for this one! (and i am so delighted by that name)

It had been hard for Bodhi to fall asleep when he first came to Eadu. The storms crashing at all hours, thunder echoing at night, jolting him awake. It would have been a demotion to almost any pilot, though, coming from Jedha, Bodhi considered it a testament to his ability to fly in poor weather and even worse visibility. Another planet to explore, from inside a cockpit, departing and returning to an increasingly familiar landing strip. When he’s on base for the night, Eadu’s storms are a raging lullaby; stopovers in other systems are just too quiet for him to fall sound asleep.

He wakes up to the steady patter of raindrops on a viewscreen; no thunder, Eadu’s version of a sunny day. The room is cast in light gray, and he shifts in bed, taking a second to remember before he looks at the shirtless man in the open kitchenette. Galen looks back at him, smiling, sizzling skillet in hand.

“Sleep well?”

Bodhi remembers how they met; a series of repetitive instances, happening over and over, until one stood out from among the rest. Meeting eyes in the canteen, Bodhi at a table, Galen just part of another group of higher-ups passing through, smiling and superficial. That’s what he could have been--that’s who he was--until Bodhi’s flight had been moved up one morning. He didn’t need much in his stomach (too much, and the joke of his motion sickness will want to kick in), just something from the tiered stand of breakfast fruit would be fine. But the man standing in front of it was taking just a little too long inspecting the selection of Corellian apples, and Bodhi didn’t have the luxury to wait.

_“They keep the ripe ones on the bottom,”_ He had gushed, pulling one out from the stack. _“It makes the fruit bruise under the weight, but they’re still good.”_

Galen had turned around to face him, eyebrow raised, amused. Bodhi saw his rank then, and issued a _“Shit, sorry”_ , but Galen only laughed.

_“I’m just a scientist.”_

He accepted the apple, and went on his way. There was a belated thought, the scent of a passing mug of stimcaf hitting Bodhi’s nose, that this man wasn’t there to beat the early morning rush. The next time they met eyes in the canteen, Bodhi smiled back.

“Could go for another hour,” yawns Bodhi, sinking back into the pillows. He pulls the sheets up, and the sizzling in the kitchen goes quiet, the blinds descending with a hum over the viewscreen.

“Galen, it’s--”

“It’s no trouble,” Galen insists, and the blinds stop halfway down, still allowing light in. He climbs back into bed, a plate in hand, which he sets on the bedside table. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Bodhi smiles, leaning to kiss his thigh. He looks up at Galen then; Galen’s fingers comb through his hair from the top of his neck and upwards, scraping gently along his scalp.

“I still can’t believe how nice your quarters are,” Bodhi reaches across Galen’s lap for the plate, strips of bantha sliced thin and fried. “I just share a bunk, with a fighter pilot.”

“Is he a friend? Where’s he from?”

“He’s alright,” Bodhi shrugs, chewing slowly, letting the smoky flavor of the meat fill his mouth. “You know how clones are. Sometimes he says he’s from Kamino, sometimes he says Mandalore.”

Galen nods, weaving the start of a thin braid into Bodhi’s hair. He does so with such ease, it makes Bodhi wonder if he had a wife, or a child once; if he did, the tan of his wedding ring is long gone. There still is a lot to Galen that Bodhi doesn’t know, and maybe Bodhi would bother to care more about that, if they were closer in age. Galen doesn’t try to be guarded; he is quiet, and charming. He tells anecdotes about his family and his youth, a laugh and longing in his voice, and, well, Bodhi doesn’t have anyone else out here. They sound real enough to be true.

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this. They had built up to the first time, more encounters outside of the canteen, Galen squeezing his shoulder in goodbye, his hand lingering there until Bodhi stepped away. Until Bodhi stayed. Until Bodhi had woken up the next morning, and wasn’t seized with panic to grab his clothes and run away.

Sleeping here is preferable, clearly, when they are both able to manage it. Galen’s body is warm and sturdy, something to cling to when the rain comes down heavy outside, when Bodhi comes back having narrowly escaped from a rebel bomb threat at a more urban port. Galen’s face softens when Bodhi relays this story; something changes, but not enough for Bodhi to pull away.

He whispers quietly to Bodhi, when Bodhi is nearly asleep, low murmurs about half-shaped plan to dismantle the Empire, as if he can sense the current of fear in Bodhi that’s been running through him since he was born. The Empire gave him a job; it’s all that he’s ever known. But he’s heard rumors about what came before, foreign to his mind, but all the more mystical because of it.

Bodhi knows enough to know that he and Galen have an expiration date. They had to have one, even if everything were normal, even if the galaxy was at peace. Their ages, the difference in rank--something would have given them away eventually. But even though there are tremors in other parts of the Outer Rim, Bodhi still has faith in Galen. They may be temporary, but Galen kisses Bodhi like he hasn’t kissed in years; tentatively at first, yes, but now imbued with confidence, like they could be permanent. 

Galen’s fingers smooth over the finished braid. Bodhi catches his hand before he pulls away, and brings it to his lips. His knuckles are rough; part of him thinks a scientist couldn’t have hands as coarse as this. But when Bodhi sits up, his other hand pressing to the hair on Galen’s chest, Galen’s free hand going to his hip, it’s easy to forget about the things he doesn’t know with another kiss.


End file.
